


"Undone"

by a_carnal_mink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:25:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_carnal_mink/pseuds/a_carnal_mink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A curse renders Dean completely dependent upon Castiel. Sam can only watch and wonder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Undone"

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the inaugural Supernatural Reverse Big Bang (spn_reversebang.livejournal.com). Inspired by the artwork "Dreaming" by Longerthanwedo (artwork [here](http://longerthanwedo.livejournal.com/72986.html)).
> 
> Website: [weltonbmarsland.com](https://weltonbmarsland.com/)

  
The Winchesters had been trapped in this cruddy basement full of magical hardware for almost two whole days. Trussed up good and proper – so well, in fact, that they still hadn't found any way of even loosening their bonds, let alone actually getting free. The most they'd managed was freeing their mouths. And if there was one thing Dean hated more than witches, as he'd told Sam practically first thing when his gag fell away, it was witches who'd obviously been in the Boy Scouts. Not a one of those fucking knots was moving. The brothers were thirsty and hungry and exhausted, sore both in bodies and egos. Letting a coven get the drop on them like that. Amateur, man. Frickin' amateur.

So when the faint sounds of a scuffle made it through the thick walls and then the door blew practically off its hinges to announce Castiel's arrival to rescue them, Sam was as grateful as the next guy.

The next guy, however, being Sam's brother and Castiel's bestest bud, was susceptible to taking his gratitude a little further.

It all happened a bit quicker than Sam could immediately process, but one of the felled coven goons roused himself enough to fling some hex words in their general direction, the giant Lilith Mirror on the rear wall exploded in a shower of glass and gilt, Cas laid the head whammy on the goon responsible with so much force that Sam could hear the dude's neck snap clear across the room, and Dean… Dean went really, really quiet. Normally? A blessing, sure. But when hexes were involved, Dean being _unusual_ could not possibly be a good thing.

Sam twisted in his bonds, trying to get a better look at his brother. Trying to see what the damage was. Castiel crouched between them both, touching their shoulders lightly and their bonds immediately slackened. Cas stood again and moved away to give them some room.

'Dean?' Sam called, shimmying free of his ropes and shackles. 'Dean! Cas, is Dean okay?'

'Dean is… he's fine.'

Only, he wasn't, of course.

Sam finally got free of his bonds and rushed to his brother's side. Dean hadn't made any attempt to get out of his own loosened bonds and when Sam leaned over him to try and see what was wrong, Dean winced and moved his head roughly to the side, trying to see around Sam.

'What the hell, Dean?' Sam leaned to the side slightly, trying to get Dean's gaze to focus again. As before, Dean's face scrunched up in a wince, almost like he was in pain, and he squirmed, trying to look beyond Sam at – at what?

'Fuck,' Sam said quietly, pulling at the ropes that criss-crossed Dean's body.

When Dean was free of the last of the bonds, Sam helped him to stand. Castiel had been sort of right; Dean did seem to be "fine". There didn't seem to be any physical damage beyond some bruises and a general look of needing some sustenance and a good night's sleep. No different to how Sam supposed he himself no doubt looked right then. But it was all wrong, somehow. Wrong that Dean hadn't immediately freed himself when his bonds were loosened. Wrong that Dean hadn't said a word since the hex had been let fly. Wrong that Dean was just standing there, not doing or saying anything, just staring straight ahead at nothing.

No. No, not nothing.

Sam took a step back and followed Dean's line of sight. Castiel looked back at him with a slight frown.

Experimentally, Sam closed the distance again and stepped right in front of his brother, blocking his view. As before, Dean's expression protested and he leaned around Sam to continue staring at what he was staring at. At _who_ he was staring at.

'The hell?' Sam moved away and turned to Castiel. 'What's going on, Cas?'

Castiel's small frown deepened a little further. 'Dean's staring at me.'

'No shit. I mean, it's not like that's anything new, you guys seem to do more than your fair share of it but…' Sam's sentence trailed off as he looked back and forth between Dean and Castiel. 'But this is like he's going for a world record or something.'

Abruptly, Castiel disappeared, leaving Sam to swear under his breath and Dean to look around wild-eyed and quickly freaking. Sam put a hand to Dean's shoulder, muttering some miscellaneous soothing sounds, but it was no use. Dean was becoming distraught, gaze flittering around the basement, obviously trying to find Cas and hating that he was failing.

'Heyheyhey,' Sam coaxed. 'C'mon, man, calm down. Shit!'

As abruptly as he'd disappeared, Castiel reappeared beside them once more. Sam cocked an eyebrow at him in lieu of demanding what the fuck that little stunt had been in aid of.

'Just an experiment,' Castiel replied to Sam's silent question. 'What was his reaction?'

'You just freaked him the fuck out, that's what his reaction was!'

In tandem, they both looked to Dean. Dean had calmed immediately upon Castiel's reappearance and was once again gazing at his friend like Cas was the whole world. Sam was really starting to get creeped out by that.

Squaring his shoulders, Castiel strode purposefully into Dean's personal space, got right in there until the two of them were practically nose to nose. 'Dean.' His voice was even lower than usual, the growl and the timbre of it making Dean's expression practically rapturous.

'Dean,' Castiel intoned again, 'I order you, I _command_ you, to stop gazing upon me.'

Sam found himself holding his breath as he and Cas both waited for any change to come over Dean. If anything, Dean's gaze only grew more intent, having Cas right there in front of him and so close. Sam's breath hissed out and Castiel's shoulders slumped as he flicked a glance over at Sam.

'I truly thought that might've worked.'

Sam opened his mouth to swear out his frustration again, but was silenced by the sharp sound of Castiel slapping Dean across the face. Instinct had Sam sucking in a harsh breath, half of it in sympathy to the slap, half in anticipation of the vengeance to come. You didn't just get away with pulling that sort of shit with a classic counter-puncher like Dean.

Except, apparently, for when you totally did, Sam thought as he watched Dean's expression barely even shift. That was so, _so_ not good.

'I'm sorry, Sam.' Castiel shook his head slowly. 'I don't know what manner of curse this is.'

Aggravated, Sam shoved his hair off his forehead and sighed heavily. 'Look, man, me and Dean, we haven't eaten in days. Barely slept either. Could you please just zap us back to Bobby's and we can talk at length about how stumped we all are there?'

 

Castiel watched Sam Winchester wolfing down a second sandwich at Bobby Singer's kitchen table. The sandwiches were in addition to the slice of pie, glass of water and mug of coffee that had already been consumed. Bobby, sitting to Sam's right in his squeaky wheelchair, also watched the demolition of the second sandwich and gruffly mumbled something about Sam making himself sick if he didn't slow the hell down soon.

Across the table from Sam – pie, water, coffee and sandwiches all laid out before him – sat Dean.

Dean's complexion was starting to look a little grey, dark smudges of sleep deprivation cradling his eyes. His breathing was shallower than it should be, his heart rate faster. The curse was making him ill; perhaps seriously so. But his gaze was still sharp and focused, his eyes bright despite the encroaching malady, just so long as Castiel remained within his line of sight. Castiel felt oddly guilty about that, as though being the focus of Dean's intense attentions were somehow his fault or wrong-doing. Certainly, circumstances being what they were, there was no doubt that it was now Castiel's responsibility.

'It's gotta be a love spell of some sort,' Bobby announced with conviction. It wasn't the first time one of them had made the suggestion, but it was sounding more definite each time it came up. 'C'mon, you two knuckleheads.' Castiel bristled imperceptibly upon realising Bobby was addressing not just Sam but himself as well. 'One of you's got to remember something that witch bastard said. Not one word? Ya got nuthin'?'

Sam swallowed loudly and seemingly uncomfortably, as though forcing down a mouthful of sandwich that had not yet been adequately chewed. 'Only thing I can remember, it's not even a full word, but I might've heard him say "thesp".'

'As in thespian?' Bobby queried, disbelief clear on his face and in his voice. He glanced over at Dean and scoffed. 'He sure don't look like he's actin'.'

Sam shrugged into the last vestiges of his sandwich. 'S'all I've got, Bobby. I'm sorry.'

Bobby just shook his head and looked down sadly at the food and drink sitting untouched and ignored in front of Dean. 'Never seen pie go unloved while Dean's around. And he looks like crap. Being suddenly in love with Feathers here is all well and good, but if he don't eat or drink or maybe even sleep…'

Bobby trailed off, obviously not wanting to articulate the rest of his thought process. Beside him, Sam nodded slowly. 'He'll waste away and die,' he finished, tired hazel eyes flitting between his brother and his companions.

Bobby's shoulders hunched. He didn't say "Well, I wasn't gonna say it!" out loud, but Castiel was certain the words were there somewhere.

Castiel approached the table and settled into the empty chair at Dean's right. He took up a spoon and manipulated a small portion of pie onto it, just the very end, the very point of the triangular slice. Meeting Dean's unwavering gaze, he willed Dean's mouth to open for the spoon. His will meeting with no success, he then pushed the spoon gently against Dean's lips. Dean put up no real resistance, though neither did he assist in any way. Castiel was able to push the sugary morsel of pastry and fruit into Dean's mouth, but how was he to force Dean to chew or to swallow?

Experimentally, Castiel spooned up another small serve of pie and trained it back between Dean's lips, only to be met with the previously delivered portion oozing out onto the spoon and down Dean's chin. Castiel dropped the spoon back to the table with a clatter, glaring down at the remainder of the pie with smiteful intent.

A dishcloth landed over Castiel's hand and he looked up at Bobby accusingly.

'Nice try, son,' Bobby grumbled. 'But these things don't ever go that easily. Just ain't the way our luck tends to go.'

Castiel took up the dishcloth silently and wiped at Dean's mouth and chin, trying not to meet the eyes that continued to stare at him.

'I've got a bunch of books dealin' with love spells,' Bobby was continuing. 'I can get in a coupla hours research before I turn in, I guess.'

'You sure, Bobby?' Sam asked. 'It's already pretty late.'

'Ain't been sleepin' so good lately anyhow. May as well do somethin' useful with the time. You look like hell though, boy – you should lay down before ya fall down.'

Castiel glanced across at Sam and saw that Bobby was right. It seemed that the conversation and perhaps the worry about his brother were the only things keeping Sam's eyes open.

'You go on up,' Bobby encouraged him. 'Have my old room. I'll get the love birds settled down here.'

For some reason, that comment made Castiel squeeze the dishcloth in his hand tighter. He met Dean's eyes and wondered. Was Dean aware of all that went on around him? Could he hear everything that was being said? Were that the case, Castiel was sure Dean's levels of emotional discomfort would be riding fairly high by now. And that was in addition to the physical discomforts he was already experiencing – exhaustion, hunger, thirst. To be rendered vulnerable and helpless as well, to have his self-determination, his self control, _beyond_ his control…

Castiel stared more intently into Dean's eyes, willing him to give some sign of his mental state, just as he'd earlier willed Dean's mouth to accept food. But, just as earlier, Castiel's will proved unsuccessful. Dean continued to merely gaze back at him, his expression soft and fond. Rapt.

'Heh,' Sam murmured under his breath as he stood up from the table. 'Love birds.'

'This isn't amusing, Sam,' Castiel told him in a warning tone, cutting a look upwards.

Sam had the grace to look momentarily abashed before pulling himself up to his full height. 'No,' he said flatly. 'It really fucking isn't.'

Castiel watched Sam leave the kitchen and Bobby wheel away to the livingroom, leaving himself and Dean at the table.

'Dean. If you can hear me and understand me, please know that I'm deeply sorry about this turn of events.'

Dean's expression didn't change.

'You comin'?' Bobby shouted through from the next room.

Sighing, Castiel stood up and walked toward the livingroom, Dean tagging along behind him.

Bobby had thrown a pillow and a blanket onto the old sofa under the window. 'Don't know if you'll be able to get 'im to sleep or not,' he huffed at Castiel. 'But at least see if you can get 'im layin' down and restin'.' Despite his bluster, Bobby's concern for Dean and his welfare was plainly evident. 'You realise you can't leave him, right? That yer gonna cause him a world of pain if he can't see you?'

'I… yes. Of course.'

Bobby gave him a steady look and a nod. 'Well. Good, then.' And he wheeled his chair around, rolling squeakily toward his office.

Castiel looked to Dean and stepped in close. 'We will fix this, Dean, you have my word.' His only reply was a stare. Sighing a little, Castiel lifted his right hand to Dean's forehead, pressing two fingers there gently, willing sleep and rest upon him. Dean remained standing and staring, conscious.

'My force of will is being keenly tested today,' Castiel muttered. He looked from Dean to the sofa and back again. Vigil service was familiar enough territory. And there were books galore in the livingroom – he could do some research of his own while awaiting morning, he supposed.

 

Sam woke up feeling halfway human, which at least was a plus. He'd managed to get about five hours of deep, dreamless sleep and he felt like he could take on the outside world again. But not before a long, hot shower and some of Bobby's breakfast cooking. When he ventured downstairs, hair still wet from the shower, he found his brother and his brother's angel in a strange tableaux at Bobby's sofa.

Dean was lying across the sofa cushions, head on a pillow, blanket covering him, gazing up at Castiel as rapturously as he'd been doing the night before. Castiel sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa, trenchcoat fanned out around him on the old carpet, and one of Bobby's millions of ancient books open and balanced across his legs. One of Castiel's hands helped steady the book and occasionally turned pages, while the other rested lightly on Dean's nearest shoulder. Beside him on the floor was a small stack of more books, the one on top – far newer than most of Bobby's library – proclaiming itself to be the world's most comprehensive encyclopaedia of Greek mythology.

'Hello, Sam,' Castiel said without even looking up from his reading or turning around.

'Er, hey.' Sam cleared his throat and walked further into the room. 'How's he doing?'

Castiel snapped shut the book he was reading and deposited it onto the floor. 'The same. Though I discovered I can at least ground him a little with touch.' So that explained the hand on the shoulder, then. 'It slows his heart rate to a degree.' He stood up in one fluid, graceful motion, taking his hand from Dean's shoulder in the process. 'But I'm afraid that's as much restfulness as your brother has been able to enjoy.'

Sam looked down to Dean's prostrate form and sighed shallowly, suddenly feeling unreasonably guilty about having had such a good night's sleep. 'Well, thanks for that much, at least.'

Castiel inclined his head in acceptance of the thanks. 'I do have some good news, however.'

'Yeah?'

'Bobby and I both feel we know what manner of curse was used.'

'Great! What is it?'

'A Narcissus Curse.'

Sam blinked. 'Narcissus?!'

'He hailed from Thespia, apparently.'

Sam blinked again. 'We're talking about the same dude, right? The Greek guy who fell in love with a lake?'

'With his own reflection, yes.' Castiel was so sincere, it was a little bit hilarious.

'Yeah, hence people who're full of themselves being Narcissists, I know, but Cas…' Sam couldn't help but laugh just a tiny bit. 'As Narcissistic as Dean can definitely be at times, I think it's pretty freaking obvious that he's only got eyes for you right now. And, dude, you don't even look anything like Dean!'

Castiel looked as though he was only managing not to roll his eyes through sheer force of will. 'It ricocheted.'

'Ricocheted,' Sam repeated in disbelief. 'You're kidding me.'

'I am not.'

'He's not,' Bobby's voice suddenly joined in. Sam turned and saw Bobby trundle to a halt in the doorway to the kitchen. 'You said them witches had a Lilith Mirror down there among all their crap, right? Wouldn't be the first time I've heard of a spell bouncin' off some shiny surface. Specially not a goddamn _magical_ one. Seems like the explanation that makes most sense. If ya can call it that.'

'Okay.' Sam nodded as he took the information in. He'd certainly heard crazier shit in his time. He could accept this – particularly when Bobby sounded so sure about it. 'I really need some breakfast,' he found himself announcing.

Bobby jabbed a thumb into the air over one shoulder. 'You know where everything is, sunshine.'

As soon as Sam was two eggs, half a coffee and some bacon into his day, he felt like his brain was sufficiently on-line to start discussing the serious business of curse-hacking with Bobby. Unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot to discuss. Curses were some fucked up shit. By the time Cas and Dean wandered in to sit at the table with them, Sam's mind had begun looping an old comment of Dean's over and over for him. Something Dean had said a few years back when they tackled that Native-cursed land development in Oklahoma with the bug problem from hell – "You don't break a curse. You get out of its way".

Sam did so not want to believe that.

He looked across the table at his brother staring at Castiel and wracked his brain to think of what on earth they could do. It wasn't bad enough that Dean was not eating, drinking or sleeping of his own accord, but none of them could coax him or even force him to do any of those life-saving things either. By virtue of association, Sam found himself considering the hospital experiences of those with eating disorders, and how nutrients would ultimately be fed into them via an intravenous drip after all other tactics had failed. Cautiously, he tabled the subject.

Bobby's trucker cap drooped a little as Bobby contemplated the logistics. 'Even if we could con his way into a hospital ward, how d'you suppose we convince 'em that his mother hen has to stay within eye-shot every minute of every day?'

Sam nodded into his second cup of coffee for a moment, lost in deliberation. 'Or,' he suddenly thought out loud, 'how about we break into a hospital and grab the supplies we need to do it ourselves?'

'We don't know the first thing about usin' the stuff,' Bobby countered.

'Then we find out!' Sam's voice raised a little more than he'd intended.

Bobby exhaled loudly and let his hands fall to the tops of his wheels. Strange, how natural the action was starting to seem to Sam now. 'I'll go look through my contacts,' Bobby grumbled. 'See who or what I can rustle up. I'll warn ya now though, most of the hospital folk I knew once upon a time, I outstayed my welcome with 'em a long while ago.'

After Bobby's chair squeaked out of the room, Sam found himself simply staring at Dean and Castiel. From being absorbed in Dean while Sam's and Bobby's discussion took place, Castiel suddenly turned his head and speared Sam with the full force of his incredibly blue gaze. 'I'm uncertain whether you've noticed, Sam,' Cas said quietly. 'But the curse hasn't only rendered your brother incapable of self-care, it is in fact accelerating the adverse effects of that incapability.'

Awesome. So not only was Dean set on a path to starve, thirst and sleep-dep himself to death, but the curse was actually speeding the whole process up as well. Fuck their lives, man.

Sam roughly shoved his chair back from the table and stood up. 'I'm gonna see if there's any other research I can do.'

He needed a distraction, dammit. And he mainly needed it to distract him from Dean having imprinted on Castiel like a duckling on its mother. Sam needed to get working.

Striding out to Bobby's library, Sam quickly selected a few books from the ones he and Bobby had already deemed "potentially useful". Then he found himself a chair in a corner and tried to bury his worry and concern in the nascent hope that emerged with every fresh page turn.

That, of course, only worked so long as Sam's faculties did. By the time he was a few hours in, still a little sleepy and still worried outta his goddamn mind, eyelids drooping and the book he was reading as dry as Death Valley, it was getting harder and harder for Sam to keep himself alert. Several times, he jerked awake in his seat, having nodded off with the book in his hands. The fact that none of them had managed to find even one instance of a Narcissus Curse _not_ ending in death, that the thing seemed just so freaking FINAL, kept him slapping himself and getting back to it. He had to keep going. He had to find something. There had to _be_ something.

Sam realised he was dreaming when he walked into the kitchen for some coffee and walked smack bang into a faceful of wing feathers. Also, Bobby's kitchen seemed to have magically expanded by about ten foot in every direction. But then, how else could it possibly have fitted such an impressive wingspan?

And impressive it certainly was, stretching clear across the room, one wingtip whispering against the window pane on one side, the other pressed against the wall on the opposite. The wings looked so strong, so able and agile, the wings of a warrior being, a winged hero. And yet, it was still just Castiel they were attached to; rumpled trenchcoat, bed-hair, big sad eyes and all.

Castiel was on his knees on the tiled floor, holding an emaciated and lifeless Dean in his arms like he'd decided Bobby's kitchen would be greatly improved with a recreation of Michelangelo's _Pietà_. Slowly, Cas turned his face up from Dean to Sam. The expression on the angel's face was one of such infinite sorrow that Sam felt the misery in his own gut churning in response.

'Dreaming of the dead, Sam,' Castiel told him, his voice low and pained.

Sam jolted as he woke with a start, the book he'd fallen asleep over thumping to the floor. He shoved his hands into his hair and pressed his fingers at his scalp. This couldn't be it. Not like this.

Standing up, Sam retrieved the book from the floor and set it where he'd been sitting. He really needed some goddamn coffee.

When he walked into the kitchen, Sam momentarily wondered if he had, in fact, woken up, or if this was all still part of the dream. Dean and Castiel sat at the same side of the table, but faced toward each other, their chairs pushed so close that their knees interlocked. Cas had one arm resting on the tabletop, holding a glass of water. The other arm rested along the back of Dean's chair, loosely curled around Dean's shoulders, hand gently cradling the back of Dean's head. Dean's chin was tipped back, his face tilted up to Castiel's, his eyes still gazing intently at Cas, of course – even allowing for the very close quarters from which he was currently doing it. The close quarters being necessitated by Castiel's mouth pressed against Dean's.

At least there were no wings filling the kitchen this time.

 

'Erm, Cas? What are you doing?'

Castiel lifted his face from Dean's long enough to glare up at Sam's questioning. 'I am doing what I can to save your brother's life.' And he took another drink of water and pressed his mouth back onto Dean's.

'Holy shit, and that's working?' Sam strode over to the table and crouched down at Dean's other side, watching Castiel's actions with such open hopefulness that Castiel regretted his glare.

Castiel kept his mouth soldered to Dean's long enough for Dean's automatic swallow mechanism to act, then pulled back. 'Yes, it appears to be working.'

The frown line etched between Sam's brows smoothed out beatifically as his face broke into a wide smile, eyes shining at Castiel. 'You're a genius, Cas! I, er, I'm not dreaming right now, am I?'

Castiel replenished the glass with more water from a pitcher. 'No, you are not.'

'Cool.' Sam half-smiled and watched Castiel repeat his activity with another mouthful of water. 'So it doesn't bother you that it's… y'know. Kinda intimate?'

Dean swallowed and Castiel pulled back again, giving Sam a long look. 'My notions of intimacy might differ from yours,' he replied in a clipped tone. 'And saving Dean's life is of greater import than whatever questions of mortal mores or delicate insensibilities of – '

'Okay, okay!' Sam held his hands up in surrender, huffing a tiny laugh. 'You're right, this is way more important. I'm glad you're around to do it, though. Could get weird if it was just me and Dean here.'

Mortals and their taboos.

Sam watched intently while Castiel delivered another drink of water. 'D'you think it'd work with food?'

Castiel set the water glass down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'So long as it's nothing he could choke on and doesn't have to chew. Soup, perhaps?'

'Worth a shot,' Sam agreed and stood up, promptly rifling through Bobby's kitchen cupboards for, presumably, a tin of soup to heat up.

While Sam banged around the kitchen, Castiel gave Dean several more drinks of water. Yes, saving Dean's life was more important, but Castiel had dodged Sam's query about his comfort with the level of intimacy. While he hadn't lied – his notions of intimacy _were_ no doubt different to Sam Winchester's – he hadn't shared an entire truth either. The action was intimate. There was no denying that. And it did bother Castiel to a degree; just not a great one. Watching Dean wither before his very eyes bothered him more.

The human mouth was a fascinating tool. The number of muscles and nerve endings in the lips alone was a marvel of physiological engineering. It was the first time Castiel had truly felt with this mouth, these borrowed lips. The first time he had placed this mouth upon another. Dean's lips were warm and dry – too dry, really, due to his dehydration – and Castiel couldn't help but wonder how this mouth might feel when it is healthy, how Dean might use it if he were in control of it right now.

Hrm. If Dean were in control, this line of inquiry would never have arisen.

And Castiel wouldn't know what Dean's mouth felt like beneath his own.

Such thoughts were causing Castiel… conflict.

Soon enough, Sam carefully brought a bowl of warmed soup to the table and set it down between Castiel and Dean. Then he pulled a chair out from the table's opposite side and fell into it, elbows on the table top, hands clasped together as he leaned forward so intent, so hopeful, so clearly willing the experiment to work. Castiel silently prayed that Sam's will might find better purchase than his own had done of late. Castiel took up a spoon, gave himself a small mouthful of soup, and transferred it to Dean's mouth as he had done with the water.

It worked.

As he pulled back for another spoonful of soup, Castiel heard Sam sigh out the words, 'Thank God.'

Castiel glanced up momentarily. Amen.

Another few mouthfuls and Sam was smiling one of his most dazzling smiles. Castiel could see it in the periphery of his vision.

'It's like watching a mother bird feeding her young!' Sam exclaimed.

Castiel dipped the spoon back into the soup and shot Sam an imperious look. 'I am not regurgitating.'

Sam's smile dimmed slightly and he shifted in his seat. 'Well, no. Of course. I mean, it's just… dude. It's just kinda beautiful to watch. You taking such good care of him like that.'

Castiel was on the verge of asking why all the allusions given in this situation so far had been avian in nature – love birds, mother hens, birds feeding their young – when he was suddenly filled with the resolve to give Dean some peace. Castiel had long felt a protectiveness toward Dean; that much was obvious. But the sheltering instinct that unwound itself within Castiel at that moment was acute and obdurate.

Abruptly, Castiel stood up. Beside him, Dean did likewise, all the better to keep gazing upon Castiel's countenance. Sam looked up at them both in query.

'Now that he's managed a measure of sustenance,' Castiel said evenly, 'I think I'll see if I can get him to rest a little more. We'll try the bedroom since you're finished with it.'

He didn't even wait to see if Sam had anything to say about the matter. He simply touched Dean's forehead and whisked them away to Bobby's old bedroom.

'I'm sorry,' he found himself saying out loud to Dean, not that Dean had or could give any outward indication of being unhappy with the decision. 'I felt perhaps, given your current affliction, you might prefer…' Castiel swiftly considered and rejected several different phrases. '…fewer outside stimuli.'

Castiel removed Jimmy's trenchcoat and suit jacket, then sunk down to the bed, stretching himself out and pulling Dean gently down with him as he went. He lay on his back, quickly comfortable, and coaxed Dean's head down to his chest. He pulled his tie to the side and Dean's cheek settled over Castiel's heart.

'If you're able,' he instructed, 'attune yourself to this body's heart beats, to its breathing. Breathe with me, Dean.'

He breathed in a deep lungful of air and let it out again slowly, watching Dean's head rise and fall as Castiel's chest beneath it expanded and deflated. A few repetitions and he could hear Dean's rattling breath fall into tandem with his own.

It was the first sure sign he had received that Dean could indeed hear and comprehend what was said to him. That knowledge both cheered and saddened Castiel at the same time. On the one hand, it was good, was it not, that Dean still had some capacity for communication, no matter how limited. But on the other, it meant that Dean had indeed heard everything that had been said in his vicinity since being cursed.

Castiel stroked his fingers into Dean's hair, carding through it gently. 'I'm sorry, Dean. This curse… I know it must be an ordeal for you. I wish I could offer more.'

With his other hand, Castiel lightly felt at the pulse point at Dean's throat, sensing his heartrate was steadying and easing as they breathed together, as Castiel's touch soothed him.

Castiel could do this. He could give this meagre comfort. But it frustrated him that there seemed nothing else he could do.

Some time later, Castiel realised he had slipped into a deep meditation as the two of them focused so intently on the breaths moving in and out of their bodies. Their shared inhalations and exhalations had had a similar calming effect upon Castiel as they had had upon Dean. Under other circumstances, better circumstances, the situation might even have been pleasant.

The green of Dean's eyes appeared to have darkened as his complexion became more wan. They were beautiful eyes, Castiel considered, expressive and soulful. Suited well for a man who saw the world as it truly was, who had seen more than most could ever even imagine.

Slowly, Castiel became aware of Dean's pulse rate quickening again, and turned his head to the side to see Sam standing in the open doorway. Dean must have seen him from the corner of his eye.

 

Sam cleared his throat softly. 'Hey. Just wanted to let you know, we've made more soup. Thought we could try getting some more vitamins into him.'

He fidgeted a finger against the doorjamb as he spoke, feeling peculiarly self-conscious, as though he was intruding on something. That was ridiculous though, Sam knew. Cas was just doing what he always did – saving Dean's ass. He supposed it was just that it was so strange to be seeing Dean in situations like those Sam was seeing him in lately; mouth to mouth with Cas, laying in Cas' arms, gazing at Cas like he was in love with the guy.

Inside the room, Castiel was pushing Dean up from the bed and getting him to stand up. In a blink, Cas' suit jacket and trenchcoat were back on him. As Cas and Dean approached the doorway, Sam gave Cas an awkward nod.

'Um. Thanks, by the way. For… you know.' Sam flicked a glance back toward the bed, determinedly forcing himself to fight off a blush. 'That's the most rest Dean's got in days, Cas. Thanks.'

Castiel strode by him and into the hallway, Dean close behind. 'We must do all we can,' Cas said brusquely.

Sam wanted to say that yeah, he knew that, of course he did. But he found himself not saying anything, just trailing after the other two like a second duckling joining the line.

In the kitchen, Sam felt uncomfortable all over again. Not because of the easy familiarity with which Cas set about feeding Dean the latest batch of soup, his movements efficient and no-nonsense. Sam had already witnessed the activity, after all; there were no surprises here for him. But, he supposed, the added presence of Bobby watching the proceedings as well this time, made Sam all the more aware of how uncomfortable this whole thing must be for Dean. Like a hospital patient having student doctors craning for a look at whatever's "interesting" about their bodies, perhaps. Having an audience to one's discomfort.

Not that Bobby was making any sort of fuss, of course. Hell, Bobby'd probably seen far stranger things in his time than a cursed hunter being kissed soup by an angel of the Lord. Sam rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, hiding the tiny – and probably slightly hysterical – grin his brain's description had given him.

Cas' hand stilled over the soup bowl all of a sudden, spoon half-submerged. 'I have the solution.'

Sam and Bobby shot each other a glance before looking back to Cas. 'You _what_?!' they demanded in unison.

Castiel set the spoon down in the bowl. 'I… it should have occurred to me sooner. I don't know why it didn't.' He used the dishcloth to wipe Dean's mouth as he spoke. 'It's so obvious.'

Bobby made an impatient noise. 'Well?' he pressured. 'Out with it, brainiac!'

Castiel gazed at Dean a moment before turning his head toward Bobby and Sam. 'It's right there in the Narcissus story.'

'What is?' Sam frowned.

'The cure. The clue to it, at least. Narcissus was cursed with unrequited love. That's what the curse is all about, at its root.' Cas glanced back at Dean again. 'Unrequited love.' Dean's eyes glistened, he was staring so hard at Castiel. 'It's so obvious what I need to do.' Cas loomed ever closer to Dean, long fingers settling on Dean's closest shoulder. 'Dean, I – '

'I think you should do this in private, Cas,' Sam suddenly blurted, interrupting him urgently. 'Dean'll never forgive any of us if there's witnesses to you telling him what I think you're intending on telling him.'

Castiel spared him a glance, then nodded once and lifted two fingers swiftly to Dean's forehead. Immediately, both of them disappeared from the table and the kitchen and, Sam figured when he heard the door to the upstairs bedroom being closed, the entire lower storey.

 

They were in the same postures, Castiel laying on his back on the bed with Dean sprawled atop him, Dean's head rising and falling on Castiel's chest as they breathed together. This time, however, their gazes were locked on each other due to forces beyond the existence of a mere witch's curse.

'My garrison was hopelessly outnumbered,' Castiel told Dean quietly. 'We'd been fighting for weeks. Months. Skirmishing our way through the labyrinth – every wall, every oubliette created, sculpted, from still-living flesh. The screams of the tortured and the torturers rang in our ears. The stench of sulphur and vomit burnt at us. I watched my brothers and my sisters fall dead around me, cut down, clawed down, dismembered…'

He trailed off, not wishing to describe the carnage in deeper detail. Dean didn't need it – being familiar with both Hell itself and with the horrors of battle – and Castiel was loath to dwell on it. He pondered a different tack and took it.

'No one expected it to be me, Dean. Even I didn't expect it to be me. I was a lowly foot soldier. A grunt, as you would probably say. I simply happened to be in the worst place at the right moment. Happened to run left in the labyrinth when I could just as easily have ran to the right. Happened to take the fifth passage when the fourth and the sixth looked no different. But it _was_ me.' He paused, lifted a hand to Dean's hair, gently stroked his fingers into it.

'I found the Righteous Man. I saw the light of his soul burning in the darkest place imaginable. And I freed him. I broke his bonds. Unshackled him from the rack at which he worked. Steadied his bloodied hands until he set the blade down. Told him that he could rest now. That he was to be saved. That I was there to rescue him. Do you know what your first words to me were, Dean?'

Though he knew no spoken answer could be forthcoming, he still paused a moment, remembering. 'You said, "Aren't you a little short for a Storm Trooper?". I didn't understand that reference.'

Again he stroked at Dean's hair, contemplating what next to say. 'In Ancient Greece, men would speak of four categories of love. Angels are created solely for two purposes – service to God and Heaven, and agápē, pure love, for all of His creations. Agápē is the love that still fills me, that drives me to serve and to fight for what I believe is right, and I feel it for everything and everyone that my Father created, just as I always have. Except that there is now one exception. One maddening, passionate, impressive and infuriating exception. And that exception is you.'

Tentatively, Castiel lifted his other hand to Dean's head also, fingers lightly tracing the top curve of Dean's ear. 'Dean. I love you.'

The change was noticeable immediately. Dean closed his eyes for longer than a blink for the first time since the coven's basement. He drew a deep breath into his lungs, coughing it out again a little shakily. When his eyes fluttered open once more, he first glanced off to the side, as though proving to himself that he could do it, before letting his gaze drift back to Castiel.

'You – ' His voice was croaky from disuse and he had to stop and swallow before making another attempt. 'You couldn't have said that last part first?'

Castiel felt one corner of his mouth making an upward motion, relief flooding through him. 'I wanted to be sure the curse would accept the veracity of my declaration,' he explained.

'Yeah, well.' Dean blinked slowly, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones for the first time that Castiel had seen in many days, his chin pressing harder into Castiel's sternum. 'Thanks, Cas,' he managed to croak out, then promptly fell into an exhausted stupor on Castiel's chest.

When Castiel was satisfied that Dean was slumbering sufficiently deeply, he extracted himself from between Dean and the bed and made sure Dean was comfortable. Then he absented himself to the kitchen, making Sam and Bobby both jump at his sudden arrival.

'The curse is undone,' he announced. 'I'll be in touch.'

'Whoa! Whoa!' Sam said loudly. 'You're going? Where?'

Castiel cocked his head at the demands. 'To continue searching for my Father,' he replied.

Sam's shoulders slumped just slightly. 'Why?'

Castiel felt his eyes narrow. 'What do you mean, why? My search is important!'

Bobby entered the conversation with, 'I don't think that's what Sam means. Why you leavin' so soon? Is Dean okay?'

'He will recover completely,' Castiel told them. 'I'm leaving because I, I would think that Dean's seen quite enough of me for a short while.'

And without waiting for any further questioning, he left them.

 

Dean was eating pie with little of his usual enthusiasm, Sam considered. And it certainly wasn't because the pie wasn't worthy of the odes Dean typically made to pie and its wonders. Karen Singer, even for a zombie, had been an exceptional baker, and the pies weren't any worse for being a day or two old by now.

No, it wasn't the pie's fault that Dean wasn't waxing lyric. It wasn't even the weather in Nebraska – where the Winchesters had headed after the Sioux Falls zombie party – that was getting his brother down. From the way Dean had surreptitiously checked his phone a little more regularly than usual, Sam guessed Dean had a some _one_ on his mind, rather than a something.

Sam hadn't asked, in the couple of weeks since the Narcissus Curse, what Castiel had said to Dean in order to break the curse's hold. He could guess pretty well, and he knew for sure that Dean would probably prefer to drive his baby into a tree than talk about it or how it was making him feel.

When not even television seemed to be cheering Dean up at all, Sam made a decision. He grabbed his jacket and his laptop and threw Dean's phone at him. In a nice way, of course.

'The hell, Sam?!'

'Call him,' Sam ordered his brother. 'I'll stay out for an hour or so.' He walked to the door of their room and opened it. 'Just call him, Dean, for chrissake.'

 

Castiel was walking a souq in Damascus when he received Dean's text message, giving him a location and a mild threat to his manhood. Not that such threats worked on a being such as Castiel, of course.

'Hey, Cas,' Dean greeted him when Castiel arrived in the Nebraskan motel room. He looked completely recovered from recent ordeals, as opposed to the last time Castiel had seen him. In boots and denim and only one layer of short sleeved shirt, he looked especially lithe and vital, a beautiful young man at the height of his strength and splendour. His complexion was healthy and his eyes shone with the openness of his expression, not with the strain of enforced staring.

'Hello, Dean.'

'Got a bit of spare time?' Dean pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, ducking his head slightly and giving Castiel a glance that was almost… shy. 'You wanna have a beer?'

Castiel momentarily contemplated the continuing disappointments of his search for his Father then nodded, even though he was not much fond of beer. 'Very well.'

'Great.' Dean stomped across the room to the portable cooler that travelled with the Winchesters and removed two brown bottles from within.

Castiel watched Dean as he methodically wiped the ice water wetness from the bottom of one bottle across the arc of his denim-clad thigh, leaving a dark stripe of fascinating detail there.

'Hey,' Dean called to him. 'My eyes are up here.'

When Castiel raised his eyes to meet Dean's, Dean was wearing a tiny smirk. A smirk that, somehow, still managed to convey a vague air of charming shyness. The bottle that had just been rolled across Dean's thigh was being held out in Castiel's direction and Castiel made his body remember how to walk forward and accept it. Silently, they both twisted the caps from their beers. Dean took aim and threw his in a perfect arc at the small trash can near the door and Castiel followed suit without barely even having to look. Dean's expression turned impressed for a fraction of a second, then he clinked his beer bottle against Castiel's and simultaneously walked away and began talking.

Precisely what he began talking _about_ , Castiel wasn't entirely sure. There were several minutes of jumbled references to various topics; where Sam was for the evening and why Dean wasn't with him, why zombies suck, why television in smalltown Nebraska sucked worse than zombies, and something about a Princess and a man named Solo trapped inside a giant slug puppet. Castiel just sipped at his beer and let the cadence of Dean's voice slide over him for a while until a suitable lull allowed him the chance to ask, 'So why have you invited me here, Dean?'

Dean was leaning back against a stretch of wall, the wallpaper behind lending him a flocked orange and black halo. 'Just wanted to say thanks for helping with that curse, y'know?' He gave a half-hearted shrug. 'And maybe hang out for a little while?'

'You've already thanked me,' Castiel reminded him.

'Dude,' Dean said softly. 'Some of that stuff you told me – '

'We don't need to discuss it, Dean. I'm well aware of your discomfort with such matters.'

Dean snorted a tiny laugh. 'Well, that's kind of the point, man. You're "well aware" of a whole lot more about me than I thought you were.'

'Truthfully?' Castiel took several steps toward where Dean was standing. 'I'm really not.' He placed the bottle he was holding onto the long shelf, littered with beer cans, that served as a headboard to the two nearby beds and stood before Dean. He was a little surprised when Dean placed his own beer on the shelf as well.

'I'm not used to hearing that kind of thing is all,' Dean told him, shoulders pressing against the wall imperceptibly, chin tilting slightly upward. 'I'm not the kind of guy people say shit like that to.'

'I'm quite sure I'm not the first person to tell you you're infuriating.'

Dean's smile was wide. 'Hell, no. Definitely not the first there.' He locked his gaze to Castiel's and the smile faded away. 'The other stuff though. God, Cas. Now that I've heard it, I can't un-hear it, you know? I don't know what to do with that stuff.'

'Do?'

'How am I supposed to act around you now? Knowing how you feel about me? Knowing that I'm hurting you all the time?'

Castiel frowned in consternation. 'I said nothing of that nature.'

'You didn't have to,' Dean told him, his voice sad.

Humans.

Castiel gave a frustrated sigh. 'You,' he said slowly, deliberately, 'do not make sense.'

Equally slowly, Dean replied, 'You can not catch a clue.' Then he closed the distance between them by simply leaning forward, and pressed their mouths together.

It was an inelegant kiss, Castiel supposed, but it was over too soon for his liking. Dean pulled back, giving him an appraising look, one eyebrow raised a short way. Castiel didn't know what to do, just returned his look steadily, composed, arms loose by his sides.

'No no,' Dean murmured, taking up a handful of blue tie. 'That needs to be done a whole lot better than that.' He tugged the handful of tie toward himself and Castiel went with it, bringing up one hand to brace on the wall by Dean's head as their mouths pressed together once more.

While feeding Dean food and water, Castiel had contemplated what it might feel like to share such a moment when Dean was in good health, his lips not dry from dehydration, how Dean might use his mouth when he was actually in control of its motions. Castiel was quickly finding out. Apparently, Dean was a genius with his mouth. If Castiel had thought the human mouth with its delicate muscle precision and its thousands of nerve endings was remarkable before, it was nothing less than astonishing now.

Dean kissed him slowly and thoroughly, lips soft and hot and insistent. He brought his free hand up to Castiel's jaw, the pads of his fingers rubbing minutely, encouraging, Castiel soon realised, his mouth to fall open by degrees.

Castiel remembered the taste of Dean's mouth. He'd been unable to make himself, in the days and weeks that had transpired, to forget. And he'd remembered the fragrance of Dean's skin, having breathed it in so intimately, his nose pressed beside Dean's own. Both these memories could now be allowed to fade, for Castiel had something more, something better to replace them with – the taste of Dean's mouth wet with desire, the fragrance of Dean's skin flushed with excitement. Castiel's throat rumbled a small sound of enjoyment, of acquiescence, of delighted wonder. Perhaps, too, of surrender. Dean's mouth curved against his, Dean smiling into the centre of their kiss, then he was deepening it, tilting Castiel's head and sliding his tongue into Castiel's open and willing mouth.

Long minutes passed.

Eventually, Castiel became aware of Dean's hands pushing at him, Dean's not insubstantial strength being brought to bear on him and Castiel himself remaining immovable.

'Cas.' Dean's mouth slid off his, slippery across his cheek. 'C'mon, Cas. Bed ain't gonna come to us, dude.'

'Bed?'

Dean let his head bang back against the wall, gazing up at Castiel through his eyelashes, his mouth swollen and shining. Debauched. 'Yeah, bed. Come lay down with me.' He sidestepped around Castiel, grabbing onto a wrist as he went, and started guiding Castiel toward the nearest bed. He threw a seductive look over his shoulder. 'I don't think you'll get my heartrate to slow down much this time though.'

Confusion giving way to pliancy, Castiel allowed Dean to manhandle him as Dean saw fit. It wasn't much like laying together on Bobby's bed had been. For one thing, this wasn't Castiel pulling an unresponsive Dean down to him for comfort and care, this was Dean pushing him onto his back and then covering Castiel's body with his own, gazing down at him hungrily. For another thing, this was a much smaller bed – a single twin, in fact, matching the one beside it – not a large, dipping on one side, marital bed like the one at Bobby's had been. For yet another, this time involved kissing and lots of it.

Castiel was learning something new about human mouths. They could create intense sensation on other parts of the body, too. Parts such as throats, and ears, and hands and, after some urgent tie loosening, collarbones. Dean gave attention to all these, mapping them with lips and tongue and, occasionally, teeth, and Castiel sank deeper into sensuality with every touch.

Beneath his hands, Castiel felt the humanness of Dean's body. The strength and power in his shoulders, the long straight sweep of his spine, the vulnerability hidden in the spaces between his ribs. He stroked at Dean's neck, feeling the pulse within it beat hard and excited. He ran his fingertips repeatedly over the smooth, solid curve of taut biceps, Dean's arms tensed with holding him, with touching him.

Just when he'd begun to think it all too much to take in at one time, too much to catalogue and examine, Dean adjusted his weight distribution carefully and Castiel realised he'd have to completely reassess his understanding of the phrase "sensory overload".

'Fuck. Cas.' Dean hissed against his ear, pressing his hips down more insistently.

Their legs had tangled together, thighs squeezing, and Dean brought his mouth back to Castiel's, hot and demanding, open and wet. The flex of Dean's tongue intensified the throbbing throughout Castiel's pelvis. Castiel tilted his hips upward, the instinct presenting itself to him in the moment, and Dean's mouth stuttered against his, a groan vibrating out of him to tickle the corner of Castiel's lips.

From the lexicons stored in his mind, the English word "rutting" emerged to describe their activity to Castiel. From Aramaic, the lexicon offered him "gnuna". Eager to mate, indeed. He suddenly saw how this physicality, this sensationism could so easily bring him undone, so easily consume him, if he allowed it. Particularly if he allowed it with Dean. Dean, who was Castiel's one exception.

Castiel raised both his hands to Dean's head, stroked his fingers into Dean's softer-than-it-looked hair and cradled his skull. A tiny amount of force, and he was able to coax Dean to lift his face from Castiel's, pulling them apart just a scant inch or two. Castiel caught and held Dean's gaze, the two of them locked utterly together on the physical, sensory and emotional levels. He looked as deep into Dean's eyes as he could, until he saw comprehension dawn and flare up there. Dean's eyes widened and his arms clung tighter around Castiel at the same time. Dean had guessed what he was about to do.

'No! Nononono, Cas, don't! Don't do this!'

'I'm sorry, Dean. But I shouldn't, I shouldn't take this.'

Dean's expression was stricken, his hands now gripping Castiel's shoulders, as if he could actually force an angel not to go anywhere. 'No, you bastard!'

Reverently, Castiel traced Dean's mouth with his fingers. And left.

Appearing in a remote and fecund forest on the south island of New Zealand, Castiel pressed the heel of his hand to the hardness beneath Jimmy's belt and willed the yearning away. For the first time in several weeks, his will obeyed him.

 

When Sam got back to the motel almost an hour later than he'd said he would – he was an awesome brother – he walked in to find Dean putting on an overshirt and taking a swift pull on his current bottle of whiskey.

'Hey,' Dean said, waving him in, even though it was obvious Dean was alone and Sam wasn't interrupting anything.

'Hey,' Sam said back, closing the door and shucking his laptop bag and jacket. 'Things okay?'

Dean took another swig of whiskey and waved the bottle around, his expression dark. 'Peachy.' Dean's hair was mussed and his bed was rumpled, but that one word was as much as he seemed amenable to sharing about his evening.

Sam almost let it drop. Almost. 'So… you called Cas?'

The whiskey sloshed as Dean took another hit. 'Yup.'

God, this was gonna be like pulling teeth. 'He come over?'

'Yeah.'

'And?' Sam needled, knowing he was pressing his luck, but getting frustrated.

'And what?' Dean demanded, obviously close to losing his temper. 'Nothing, okay? He came over, he left. End of report.'

Sam shook his head. This wasn't right. 'He can't have lied, Dean.'

'Huh?'

Sam took the whiskey bottle, took a swig and handed it back. 'The curse wouldn't have broken if Cas was lying to you.'

Dean's expression got even darker, shutters moving firmly into place. 'And what would you know about it?'

'Nothing.' Sam could concede that much. But not everything. 'Just that I _know_ he can't have been lying. I'm sure about that. He lo – '

'Don't fucking say it!' Dean stormed over to his bed and sat down heavily. 'Just, just shut the fuck up, Sam. Leave it alone.' He pushed his pillows around like they were personally offending him and leaned back against the headboard, stretching his legs out on the bed and crossing them at the ankle.

Sam sighed. 'So that's it?'

'That's it. Not exactly poem-worthy material.' Dean lifted the bottle to his mouth again, paused just before putting his lips to it. 'I think I'm gonna drink 'til I pass out,' he informed him, as if having made an important life decision, and took a long pull of whiskey to prove it.

Sam contemplated having a shower or doing some reading online, but the slump of Dean's shoulders made him change his mind. Instead, Sam helped himself to a beer from the cooler and clambered onto the other bed.

Dean held the whiskey bottle out over the couple of feet distance between their beds and Sam clinked his beer against it. Companionably, the two of them settled in for a night of wiping themselves out.

All things considered, it probably wasn't Sam's greatest decision ever, considering that one moment, he was pondering how he hadn't seen Dean sleep on his front like that for ages and how vulnerable he kinda looked like that, and the next moment – or what felt like, at least – he was waking up to two masked guys standing in their room, locked and loaded.

Right about then, Sam would've given anything for a few zombies, or a Narcissus Curse, or being trapped in a cruddy basement full of magical hardware. Amateur, man. Frickin' amateur.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written October 2010.


End file.
